


The Woman At the Bar

by ncfan



Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crossover, Bechdel Test Pass, Gen, I don't know, In which Christian Grey gets what's coming to him, Might work on this universe more at some point in time, POV Female Character, Past Tense, Spitefic, The weirdest crossover ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with the woman at the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woman At the Bar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gehayi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gehayi/gifts).



> To Gehayi, in appreciation for all the work you, Ket Makura and the guest sporkers have put into the 50 Shades sporking. I hope you like this.
> 
> To the general audience: Yes, this is a spitefic. It is not written to celebrate 50 Shades of Grey, but to _demolish_ it. As such, flames will be deleted.

It started with the woman at the bar.

Kate Kavanagh would admit that, sometimes, she didn't mind clichéd first lines in the books she read. This one actually held a certain appeal, not least because it was true. It had all started with the woman at the bar.

Kate was staring at her, the way anyone who caught sight of her stared at her until they finally realized that they were staring or until she turned their gaze on them and, unavoidably, they turned away, embarrassed. The woman was, well, she was _strange_. And Kate didn't mean that to be offensive; if she had meant to be offensive, trust me, there was no way you'd mistake it for anything else.

She was unusually tall, had to be more than six feet tall—taller, in fact, than most of the men Kate knew. The woman had an ageless look about her; no matter how hard she tried, Kate could not begin to guess how old she was. She moved quickly and gracefully, her feet barely seeming to touch the floor when she walked in and out of the bar. Her pale eyes were unusually bright and piercing. Whenever she looked at Kate, Kate felt as though she was staring into the very depths of her soul. And for the life of her, Kate could not pin down the woman's accent.

In short, the woman was downright _eerie._ The fact that she ordered the same thing every time she came to the bar—straight whiskey—and always sat at the bar instead of taking a table or a booth was probably the most normal thing about her.

Now, it wasn't like the woman had done anything to make Kate feel intimidated. It wasn't like she'd done anything to Kate or said anything to her that would reasonably make someone feel intimidated. In fact, Kate and the woman had not spoken to one another at all, in all of the times that they happened to be in this bar at the same time. And maybe 'intimidated' wasn't the right word for how Kate felt around her. Feeling 'intimidated' would imply that Kate was afraid of her. She wasn't. She was just very aware of this woman's strangeness. That was all. Really.

At least Kate could be distracted from the reason she was visiting this bar more often than usual lately. Nothing like a minor mystery to take her mind off of coming home to an apartment that was empty more often than not (Not that she thought any less of Ana for that—Kate wasn't that much of a hypocrite—but it was so unlike her, just another way Grey had gotten his hooks into her). Nothing like a minor mystery to take her mind off of her mounting fears and worries and suspicions, if only for an hour or so.

-0-0-0-

Over the next few days, Kate watched the Strange Brunette, as she'd dubbed her, whenever she came into the bar, sometimes out of the corner or her eye and sometimes without bothering to hide it at all. She noticed little things about her, like how her thick, coarse hair would get insanely frizzy if it had been raining outside, how all of her fingernails were chipped, how she refused to take off her olive-colored trench coat however warm it might be in the bar; Kate began to wonder if she wasn't hiding a gun under that coat.

She was also very attentive of her drink. In fact, the first time Kate and the Strange Brunette spoke to one another was when the latter asked the former to watch her whiskey while she went to the bathroom.

"Will you watch my drink? I'll be right back," she assured Kate, and even after hearing her place her order a few times, Kate still couldn't help but think that the Strange Brunette had a softer voice than she would have expected from such a tall woman.

"Sure." Kate didn't see any reason not to.

While the Strange Brunette was gone, Kate did indeed watch her drink. She had put a napkin over the top of the glass, folding it down over the rim so that even if it was taken off and replaced, the difference would be noticeable. Come to think of it, Kate had watched the woman watch the bartender intently as he prepared her drink. And when had she ever let that drink out of her sight while she was drinking it?

There was a story in that. There had to be. It made Kate a little sick just thinking of it. Sure, it could just be that the Strange Brunette was a cautious woman, but could you blame Kate for drawing conclusions?

_I thought she let him in. If I had known…_

When the Strange Brunette sat back down, she turned to Kate and smiled slightly. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"No, we haven't." _And to be honest, after saying something like that, I thought you'd give your name first._ "My name's Kate Kavanagh. And you are?"

"Aredhel," the woman said simply. When she caught Kate looking at her curiously, she added, "My birth name is Irissë, but I am called Aredhel in this community."

Huh. Kate had never heard of names like those. Maybe she was from out of country.

They shook hands, Aredhel's big, long-fingered hand closing around Kate's much-smaller one. Aredhel had a remarkably tight grip; Kate's fingers were tingling when she drew her hand back. Kate was going to ask Aredhel what her surname was when the door to the bar swung open, and Aredhel, upon seeing who had walked in, slapped a ten dollar bill on the bar and walked over to the newcomer.

Kate looked back, frowning. Aredhel was standing with a man with long black hair tied back in a braid of all things (Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a man wearing braids outside of old Westerns, but maybe she wasn't looking in the right places). They had to be siblings; they looked too much alike not to be siblings, or at least cousins. The two of them exchanged a few quiet words before leaving.

Kate blinked. That was odd. But she'd certainly had _worse_ first conversations, so this wasn't all that bad, really.

-0-0-0-

"So what do you do for a living?"

After so many evenings of never saying a word to one another, and then only sharing names, Kate hadn't expected Aredhel to ask her that kind of question, much less to be looking at her with the sort of interest that she was now.

"I'm an intern with the _Seattle Times_."

"Is that interesting work?"

Kate laughed sheepishly over the rim of her martini glass. "Well, to be honest, it's not as exciting as I thought it would be. Don't get me wrong!" she exclaimed, when she saw Aredhel's brow knit. "I like it a lot; it just…" She paused, frowning. "It just didn't quite live up to the hype."

Kate knew when she was being hand-held and hand-led from assignment to assignment. It shouldn't have bothered her; at least her mentors were taking an active interest in her and wanted to make sure she understood everything she was being told to do. Still, it chafed, being hand-held. What Kate wanted was more responsibility and less people peering over her shoulder.

She could handle it, though. It wouldn't be like this forever. Kate was going to _earn_ that spot with the _Seattle Times_.

"Hmm." Aredhel ran her finger across the lip of her glass, frowning down at her murky reflection in the whiskey.

"Where do you work?" Kate asked her, eyeing Aredhel curiously. For some reason, she couldn't really see Aredhel working for a living. The woman just struck her as the sort who had never _had_ to work for a living. There was nothing tangible about it for Kate to point to and say ' _This_ is why I don't think she works!' She just looked at Aredhel and was sure that she had never worked a day in her life.

And sure enough… "Oh, no, I don't work." Aredhel waved her hand dismissively. "Trust me, that would end horribly." But then she said something a bit more unexpected. "Actually, I'm here with some of my family looking for a missing cousin of mine."

 _Missing_? Kate's stomach clenched. _Is she here looking for one of Grey's exes?_ "Any luck?" Kate inquired, forcing herself to keep her voice light.

Aredhel sighed. "No, none. The more we look the more I'm afraid he's vanished into thin air," she muttered. Aredhel rested her hand on her forehead, staring into space.

 _A man? Well at least he probably didn't end up with Grey._ Kate's stomach clenched again. _God, that's a horrible thing to say._ Kate put a hand on Aredhel's shoulder tentatively. "I'm sorry about your cousin," she said awkwardly. It felt kind of wrong, giving condolences when just a second ago she was thinking that it was a good thing that Aredhel's cousin hadn't ended up like all of those poor women. "I hope you find him." That much was sincere, at least, and could be said without shame.

Aredhel laughed sharply. "Don't worry about him too much. Makalaurë isn't nearly as harmless as he looks. And we all used to run off for days at a time to camp out in the woods while Father and Uncle fought." Then, she turned her gaze on Kate. "Do you suppose you've seen him?"

Kate shrugged. "It's possible, but how would I know him if I'd seen him? You haven't even told me what he looks like." She wasn't sure if she was comforted or put off by Aredhel's assurances that her cousin was alright, despite having been missing for who knew how long.

"No, I haven't," Aredhel admitted. "Alright, if you do see him, this is what he looks like. He's very tall—taller than me, for reference—and he has black hair, usually worn long, though I've known him to cut it when he's in a mood." Her brow furrowed in concentration. "He might be going by Makalaurë or Maglor or Kano; it's hard to say. But without a doubt, the way you are most likely to identify him is through his singing."

"His… singing," Kate said blankly.

"It's true!" Aredhel assured her. "Singing has always been Makalaurë's favorite pursuit; he based his career around it. If you hear a voice that makes you want to weep, it's likely him."

"I'll keep that in mind." Kate began to wonder if Aredhel wasn't a bit inclined towards telling tall tales. It was either that or she held her cousin's singing voice in unrealistically high regard.

Aredhel took a sip from her whiskey glass. "Who knows?" she muttered. "Maybe he'll come wandering in through the front door."

"A lot of people have hoped for that," Kate whispered, and tried not to think of Ana, nor of the others who had all looked so much like her.

-0-0-0-

The next night, they talked about the places they'd traveled to.

Kate recounted old vacations she'd taken with her family and friends. She spoke of tropical islands flooded with hot summer sunlight or gentle breezes in winter, when the beaches weren't quite so inundated with tourists. She talked about all the historical sites she had visited: the Coliseum in Rome, Stonehenge one summer when her father went to the U.K. on a business trip, the Rapa Nui National Park on Easter Island, and more. It had been so eerie visiting all of those places, even if she couldn't just walk up to Stonehenge and touch the standing stones.

Without fail, Aredhel pumped Kate for more information on those sorts of places, the old, storied places and monuments and parks. Her pale, piercing eyes gleamed when she heard of the strangeness of the moai and the standing stones. Maybe she was a history buff. Maybe she just liked stories about mysterious things.

And in turn, Aredhel told stories as well.

When Kate heard Aredhel's stories, she became even more convinced that the other woman liked to weave tall tales together. She was describing places that couldn't possibly be real—treacherous ice bridges that never saw the sun, a continent lit by the light of trees rather than the sun and the moon, a valley full of giant spiders. Aredhel also seemed to believe that Atlantis existed, because another of her tall tales was about an island populated by a race of relatively-enlightened humans that was sunk beneath the waves by the gods when the people of the island turned to devil worship.

As far as she could tell, Kate didn't think she was being lied to, exactly. Aredhel told all of these tales with the sort of wry tone that indicated that she didn't really expect Kate to believe any of this. It was kind of the way Kate had fantasized that getting together with other adults and drinking alcohol would be like when she was a little girl and her parents didn't even let on to her that they drank. All that was missing was a camp fire and burnt marshmallows. She'd trade her lemon drop martini for a bottle of beer for that any day.

-0-0-0-

"You seem troubled."

Kate had been unable to bring herself to talk tonight, could barely even find it in herself to touch her drink. When Aredhel spoke up, she jumped in her chair, heart hammering against her chest. "W-what?" Kate stammered, clutching the stem of her wine glass like a castaway clutching a life-preserver.

Aredhel's brow knit. "You just seem troubled. Do you want to talk about it?"

Kate drew a deep breath. Then, for good measure, she downed her wine in one gulp. "I've got this friend, Ana," she said shakily. "She's dating this older man—well, he's not _really_ all that much older, but he acts like we're all kids to him, so I guess that counts. He's Christian Grey, CEO of this company in Seattle. I'm starting to get worried. No." She shook her head sharply. "I'm _really_ worried. He scares her. She jumps whenever he talks to her. She was never much of a social butterfly to start with, but she's become incredibly withdrawn. I mean, I've known men like this." Kate rubbed her forehead. "Men who get into your heads and under your skin and don't do anything good once they get there; one of my exes was like that. But this isn't like that; that would be bad enough. At least my ex didn't have more money than God and a talent for bribery. It's…" She trailed off helplessly.

Her companion took a long swig of her whiskey, draining her glass, and signaled for it to be refilled before she responded. "Have you tried to convey your concerns to your friend?" Aredhel asked tightly.

"I've dropped hints, I guess." Kate waved her hand in the air. "But every time I try to talk to her about it, she gets really defensive. It just makes her cling to him even more. I'm afraid she's just going to stop talking to me altogether if I keep pushing her," Kate admitted reluctantly. She ran her hand through her hair, biting back a scream of frustration.

"Some would say that a friend would continue to warn her friend of danger, even at the risk of their becoming estranged," Aredhel suggested quietly.

Kate glared at her. "That's assuming that the worst that could come of this is that Ana will get her heart broken and see that I was right."

"There's more?" Aredhel's voice grew sharper.

"Yeah." Kate swallowed hard. "There's more. Okay, like I said, Grey is the CEO of this company in Seattle. CEOs don't get as much media attention as actors and singers and the like, but they do get some attention. To most of the world, aside from his mother and sister, Christian Grey has never been seen in public with a woman. But when I started to get worried about Ana, I did some digging.

"The man has a string of exes, over a dozen women he's been seen taking to restaurants and salons and department stores. Here's where it starts to get creepy. _They_ _all look the same_. They all look just like Ana, short, pale, thin, and dark-haired. This goes beyond the man having a type; Ana and all of his exes look like they could be sisters. Here's where it gets worse. Some of them are locals, so I tried looking them up. I couldn't find them. The same goes for the ones who aren't locals. I could not find a trace of them anywhere. No addresses, no phone numbers or e-mail addresses, no workplaces, no nothing. It's like they never existed."

Aredhel's face darkened.

"Am I crazy?" Kate demanded, verging on the hysterical. Ethan had called her crazy when she tried to confide her worries to him. "Am I just seeing things that aren't there? Because the more I think about it, the more afraid—" her voice cracked "—I am that Ana's gonna drive off to Grey's one night and I'm never going to see her again."

Aredhel stared at her for what felt like an eternity, her piercing gaze roving searchingly over Kate's face. "You're not crazy, Kate," she said finally, and Kate couldn't keep from sighing in relief. "Never let someone tell you that you're not seeing what's right before your eyes. And actually…" Aredhel paused, readjusting her coat collar as she searched for words. "…I think I know how to help you."

"How?" Kate couldn't imagine what one person could do to neutralize the threat Grey posed when he had been getting away with whatever it was he had done to those women (for Ana's sake, Kate didn't want to think ' _murder_ ', but that was the answer her mind inevitably came to) for years.

Aredhel smiled coolly; as clichéd as it was, Kate felt a chill go down her spine. "Some of my family happens to be in the area. I'll apprise them of the situation, and we'll move from there. It will be alright, Kate," she assured her.

-0-0-0-

Kate never saw Aredhel again. Just like Grey's ex-girlfriends, she just seemed to drop off the face of the earth. But somehow, Kate wasn't as worried about her as she was about those fifteen women.

Not long afterwards, Christian Grey was found dead in the master bedroom of his penthouse apartment. He had been killed by, of all things, a bow and arrow. The housekeeper had come into his room to find the arrow sticking out of his forehead; his face and the bed sheets were covered in blood.

Kate read the newspaper article over breakfast, and smiled.


End file.
